The Other Dean
by Jiwa
Summary: When Castiel goes save Dean from hell, there are... complications. Instead of getting back the Dean the hunter, they get Dean the mechanic, who's lived a relatively happy life with his dad, mom, and his brother Sam, and has never fought a Supernatural being in his life. Fate must be laughing its ass off.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've always wanted to read a fic like this. Since I couldn't find one, I decided to write it myself. Do let me know what you think of the idea.

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

Dean Winchester opened his eyes, only to see utter darkness.

He tried to sit up, but hit his head on something hard. "Son of a bitch," he cursed and rubbed his head. After a moment of feeling around in the darkness, he came to the conclusion he was lying down in an enclosed space, with barely enough room to move his hands.

He searched his pockets and found a lighter. Deep sense of foreboding was starting to make its way to his guts.

Dean lit the lighter.

Yep. He was definitely in a coffin. And not one of those fancy ass coffins either, it looked like someone had built it themselves out of a few pieces of plank.

Dean tried to think logically, albeit it was hard because he swore he could feel the space around him running out of air. This was either a very elaborate prank, or some sick freak had kidnapped him and was currently cackling away as their victim realised he currently ten feet underground.

Deciding it didn't really matter which scenario he was currently in, Dean started furiously banging on the wood above him.

"Help!" he yelled out, his voice scratchy from unuse. "Someone help me!"

He knew based on the soft sounds the wood was making that his banging was useless. Nobody was going to hear him. He was underground.

He hit the lid one more time, and there was a crack.

Dirt dropped on his face.

Dean's eyes widened.

"Shit."

* * *

The first thing he did after digging his way out from his early grave was to get the hell out of dodge. It wasn't enough that he'd apparently been kidnapped and buried alive, there was also something really shifty about the clearing he'd been buried in. The trees looked like something, or someone, had made them fall down under enormous pressure. He didn't want to stay to find out what it was.

It was just about noon, and he had to admit walking in direct sunlight was taking a harder hit on him than it should have. He was thirsty, and he was hungry, and he had no idea what the hell was going on.

Fortunately, it didn't take him long to come across an empty gas station.

Dean hesitated for a moment, but then decided he could easily explain it to the cops. He'd been kidnapped and robbed, and left in the middle of nowhere, what the hell was he supposed to do? So what if he was breaking and entering. He needed some water, food, and money to make a phone call.

As soon as he got the door open, Dean headed straight for the fridge and downed a bottle of water. It was cold and felt like heaven. He grabbed hold of another one, then wandered over to the newspapers. He glanced at the date.

Thursday, September 18, 2008.

He assumed the paper was relatively new, which meant he probably hadn't been missing for longer than two days, three at max.

Dean washed the dirt off his face, and looked into the mirror.

His reflection blinked back at him.

Dude. Had the kidnapper cut his hair? He touched his head. It was definitely shorter than he kept it. What kind of sick freak did that to a guy?

He decided to check the rest of his body, just in case, and was about to take off his shirt when he noticed the tattoo.

Oh, man. What?

Dean moved closer to the mirror. It looked like some sort of a symbol, right on top of his heart. He frowned. Maybe the kidnapper had a thing for the occult?

He touched it gingerly, expecting it to be sore. But it wasn't, which made him frown again. He'd always thought tattoos were supposed to hurt a few days after getting them.

"Whatever," he mumbled and pulled his shirt back down.

The motion made something on his left biceps hurt. He stopped, and turned a little sideways to get a better look, before lifting up the short black sleeve.

Okay. This was getting really freaky.

"What. The. Hell," he said, staring at the red handprint on his biceps. And was definitely a handprint. It was raised, which made him wonder how his freak of a kidnapper had managed to burn it on him.

It was a brand, he realised. He was branded.

The thought made him feel sick.

* * *

When he had gathered what food and drink he could carry, he headed to the cash register. He'd just grabbed a handful of coins and fifty bucks when the TV turned on.

By itself.

He stared at it for a moment, and pushed the off button.

As his hand fell down to his side, the radio behind him turned on. He turned to look at it, and could hear the TV getting back on, broadcasting nothing but snow. Just white noise.

It made Dean pause.

"Okay."

He exploded into motion, grabbed his bag of food, and ran out of the building.

The noise didn't follow him, so he counted his blessings and headed to the pay phone. He dialed in the first series of numbers, and waited. Number not in use. He frowned.

He dialed in the second series of numbers. Not in use.

On the sixth try, he got through.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby?" he asked. "I need you to call Sam, this payphone isn't getting me through to him."

"Who the hell is this?"

He frowned. "It's me."

"Who's me?"

"Dean."

The call disconnected.

He blinked, and called again.

"Who is this?" Bobby's voice asked.

"Bobby, listen to me-"

"Call again, and I'll kill you."

He stared at the phone. And dialed again.

"Bobby, I don't know what the hell Dad has done to upset you this time, but I think I was kidnapped, so you're just going to have to let it go, okay?" Since the call wasn't disconnected, he took it as a sign to continue. "I can't reach the AEF, Mom, Dad, or Sam aren't picking up, I know they wouldn't just change their phone numbers like that, something really weird is going on!"

There was a silence.

"You said you were... kidnapped?"

"Yeah," Dean said, relieved. "I woke up in a coffin in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Pontiac, Illinois, and let me tell you, digging my way out of there wasn't fun."

Bobby told him he was going to come pick him up, and suggested that Dean should find a place to sleep in the meanwhile. Dean agreed with that wholeheartedly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dean managed to find a motel nearby. From the outside the joint hadn't looked too shabby, but once Dean had signed in he realised it wasn't exactly nice either. The faded, puke green colors of the peeling wallpaper had made him think twice about eating the pizza he'd ordered, seeing as the color matched eerily well with the color of the green peppers. The room really hadn't done wonders for his appetite, but despite feeling put out by the decor and the puke colored peppers, Dean had felt ravenous, like he hadn't eaten for days.

The empty pizza box, the evidence of his hunger, was now laying on the floor.

Dean snorted from his place on the creaky bed and crossed his arms. He still had no memory of the past few days, which meant it was highly probable he hadn't eaten lately. He doubted the guy who'd kidnapped him would have fed him, only to bury him alive in a frickin' coffin.

And he hadn't been able to reach his family... The thought made him break out in cold sweat.

He just hoped his mom was okay.

* * *

Bobby arrived just after nightfall. Announcing himself by banging hard on the door.

Dean jolted up in the bed, disoriented for a few moments, before he remembered what was going on. He crossed the room and opened the door. "Bobby-" Dean started, and was greeted with a plash of water on his face.

"Don't try anything funny," Bobby Singer said, glaring at him from beneath his cap, pointing a shotgun at him. "Back away slowly and keep your hands where I can see them."

"What the hell?" Dean said, wiping the water from his face and stepping back. "Bobby, have you completely snapped? It's me, Dean. Dean Winchester!"

Bobby took a few steps around him, the gun still pointed at him, and narrowed his eyes. "I know who you look like," Bobby snarled, and took a silver knife from his pocket, "But you ain't Dean."

Dean took a step back. "Whoa," he hushed, raising his hands, "Look, Bobby, I don't know what's going on, but there's no need for that. Put the knife away."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Bobby said, still pointing both the gun and the knife at Dean. "If you think Dean Winchester asking for his mommy and daddy will make me lower my guard, you've got some lousy intel."

Dean raised his hands higher in surrender. "Your name is Robert Steven Singer. I've known you since I was knee high because Dad used to go on hunting trips with you and the Harvelles, and Sammy and me used to tag along. Karen used to make us the best apple pie, I swear, I still dream about that crispy crust now and then."

Bobby lowered the shotgun in surprise. "What kind of idjit has been giving you your intel?" he wondered. "My wife never met the Winchesters."

"What?" Dean said, now even more confused.

Bobby used Dean's confusion to his and sliced Dean's arm with the silver knife, drawing blood.

"Ouch!" Dean barked, flinching away from the offending knife. "What the hell, Bobby!"

The man just narrowed his eyes, and circled around him. "You're no shifter, either."

Dean shook his head at Bobby, still nursing his wound. "I can't believe you," he mumbled, "I never took you for the harassment type, Bobby."

Bobby just stared at him, confused. "You said you wanted to reach your brother?"

Dean brightened up at the thought of his family. "Yeah," he said, "I can't seem to be able to reach anyone. Only your landline was working. I need to tell Sammy I'm okay, I usually call him every evening so he's probably worrying his ass off."

Bobby _finally_ lowered the shotgun. He eyed Dean with a disbelieving expression, then sighed. "Maybe you are Dean Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Well, duh."

"But there's definitely something iffy about this," Bobby said, then narrowed his eyes. "You said you woke up in a coffin?"

"Yeah," Dean said, scratching his neck. "I think some psycho must have kidnapped me and tried to bury me alive. Even the coffin looked hand made."

Bobby nodded slowly, like all of it was starting to make sense to him. "You said you woke up near Pontiac?"

"Yup," Dean said, slumping down on the bed behind him, "And get this, the bastard cut my hair and gave me a frickin' tattoo." He rolled his shirt up and showed the strange symbol to Bobby, whose eyes widened. "I bet I could make headlines if I told my story to the press. It was so weird. They eat that shit up."

Suddenly Bobby swore. "That idjit!" he seethed, and took out his phone. "When I see him, I'm going to rip him a new one."

Dean furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

Bobby just shook his head, and told him to pack up. "We're going to see your brother."

"Sammy?" Dean said, and packed up what was left of his clothes and the stuff he'd nicked from the gas station. "But he's all the way at Stanford."

Bobby took a look at Dean's earnest expression and seemed to realise something. He rubbed his face and sighed, all the while having the expression of someone who was being forced to kick an innocent puppy at gunpoint. " _Balls_."

* * *

"Alternate reality?" Dean asked from the passenger seat of Bobby's truck, making a face. "Sounds a bit far fetched to me."

"It's just a working theory," Bobby huffed out. "But I bet that idjit brother of yours has a better idea. This _has_ to be his doing."

"Explain to me again why Sam isn't at Stanford," Dean said, crossing his arms.

"I told you," Bobby growled out impatiently. "We'll go over the details once we find Sam."

Dean glanced over at Bobby. His adopted Uncle seemed even rougher around the edges than normal. Somehow more violent, and if possible, more cynical. And with all of those tests he'd put Dean through earlier, with the silver knife and the water...

"If this is an alternate reality, it's a Bizarro World," Dean muttered. "Or a Mirror Universe... Something is definitely not right."

"You can tell that just because Sam isn't at Stanford?" Bobby inquired.

 _Shit,_ Dean flinched. Bobby had heard him. He shrugged sheepishly. "That, and the AEF didn't answer when I called, and they _always_ answer. And it would also explain your weird harassment of me earlier. I never took you for a humanist, Uncle Bobby."

Bobby threw him a blank look. "What?"

"Never mind," Dean said, sighing. "I guess we can talk about that later, too. Now which motel did the GPS track Sam down to...?"

They knocked on the door 207, and a beautiful brunette wearing only a top and PJ bottoms opened the door. Dean and Bobby stared at her, surpsised.

"So where is it?" the girl asked.

"Uhh...? Where's what?" Dean asked, sharing bewildered look with Bobby.

"The pizza that takes two guys to deliver?" the girl clarified.

Dean looked over her shoulder into the room and shook his head. "I think we've got the wrong room..." he said, just as someone tall, imposing and buff as hell walked over to the doorway.

"Hey, what is-," the giant with familiar floppy hair asked, then stopped like he'd walked into a wall and stared at Dean like he'd seen a ghost.

Dean rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Sammy?" he asked.

The buffed version of Sam, stared at him for five more seconds, before coming at him with a knife.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean said, fighting against the giant so the knife wouldn't puncture any important bits. Bobby managed to get Sam from behind and pull him away.

"Geez, what do they put into the water over here?" Dean said, breathing heavily as he leaned against the wall. "You're massive."

"It's him!" Bobby yelled, paying no attention to Dean's mutterings as he kept Sammy from reaching his bewildered brother. "Sam, I've been through this already. It's really Dean!"

Sam finally calmed down enough for Dean to give Bobby a look, making the man sigh. "Or well, it's a version of Dean... There's are some complications."

The way Sammy was looking at Dean left no question, this giant really was Sammy. Those puppy dog eyes were unmistakable. And the look on his face made Dean's heart break.

"Sammy," he said and reached out his arms in a familiar gesture. Sam's face crumbled and he practically jumped into the embrace. They squeezed each other for a while, neither one wanting to move, but eventually they had to let go to breathe. As they separated, the brunette girl interrupted the chick flick moment.

"So, are you two, like together...?" she asked, fidgeting.

Sam frowned at her in confusion. "What? No!" he said quickly. "He's my brother," Sam clarified.

"I got it... I guess," the girl said, then made some hand motions, "Look, I should probably go..."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Sorry."

Dean watched, frowning, as Sam put on a shirt and escorted the now dressed girl to the door.

"So call me?" the girl said with a hopeful smile.

"Sure thing, Cathy," Sam said, giving her a charming (fake) smile.

The girl's smile faded. "Christy."

"Right," Sam said, continuing with the awkward smile until the girl left. He slammed the door shut.

Dean's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. "Things sure are different."

Sam gave him a questioning look, then glanced at Bobby. "What did you mean by complications?"

"What did it cost, you idjit?" Bobby said instead of answering. "What kind of mojo did you need to bring him back?"

"What?" Sam said, sitting down. "You think I made a deal?"

"That's exactly what I think."

Dean frowned and put up his hands. "Okay, I know you said this is an alternate reality but what do you mean by 'bring me back'?"

Bobby flinched, and Sam glanced between Dean and Bobby. "Alternate reality?"

"Wait..." Dean's eyebrows lifted, ignoring Sam. "Are you saying Bizarro me is dead? Is that why I woke up in that coffin?"

Dean and Sam both leveled Bobby with questioning looks. The man sighed and took off his cap. "Whatever mojo you used, boy, it wasn't enough, because according to my theory, _he_ is an alternate version of our Dean," Bobby said and waved at Dean.

Sam's face fell. "Does that mean...?"

"I don't know," Bobby said, huffing.

"But..." Sam continued, "It wasn't me. I didn't make a deal."

Dean looked back and forth and tried to make sense of the conversation. Bizarro-him was dead, and Dean had taken his place. But what the hell was all this speak of deals and mojo?

"Are you lying?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes. "Look me in the eye and say you didn't make a deal."

"I didn't, okay!" Sam yelled, "I tried everything, that's the truth! I even tried opening the Devil's Gate, hell, I tried to bargain, Bobby, but no demon would a deal! All right?!"

"But if you didn't do it, then how...?" Bobby said, making both Bobby and Sam stare at Dean suspiciously.

Dean looked back at him. "Don't look at me, man," Dean said, shaking his head. Obviously this Bizarro World was more messed up than he had realised. That, or Bizarro-Bobby and Bizarro-Sam were both off their cracker. "I just woke up in a coffin, I'm late for work, and not one member of my family would pick up the phone except for you, Bobby, when you threatened to kill me."

Sam's face softened. "I'm sorry."

"Nah," Dean said, shooking his head. "Now that this all is figured out, I realise they must have different phone numbers, just like you. I don't get the whole fake name business, though," he continued, raising his eyebrows.

Sam gave him an uncertain smile. "Who were you hoping to call...?"

"Well, you, obviously. And Mom," Dean said absentmindedly. "At first I thought I had been kidnapped by some psycho, so I wanted to let you know I was okay..." Dean continued, then trailed off as he saw Sam's face pale.

"Mom?" Sam repeated, his voice rough.

Dean paused. "What's with that reaction?" he asked, giving Sam's panicked face a searching look. "Are you two not on good terms or something?"

Sam swallowed and opened his mouth, but seemed unable to continue.

"Dean," Bobby said, stepping up and giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Mary Winchester died in 1983."

Dean staggered at the revelation, feeling his knees buckle. He did a quick calculation in his head. "But... I was only four in 1983."

A quick look at Sam and Bobby's stricken faces made him realize they definitely weren't kidding. Dean stared at Sam, whose sad puppy dog eyes stared back at him, when the revelation came to him. Dean covered his mouth, feeling like he was going to pass out. "... You were only six months old."

Sam nodded hesitantly. "Yeah," he said, his voice stuck in his throat.

Dean dragged a hand down his face and sat down on the bed. "This world is so messed up," he croaked out.

Sam was silent for a moment, just staring at his brother. Then he looked at Bobby. "So, alternate reality...?" he asked, shifting his weight from his left right to the right.

Bobby just leveled him with a look, gesturing to Dean who was breaking down over the death of his mom. "How about we all settle down before we have that talk. I don't need two Winchesters having a crisis in the same room," he whispered.

Sam shrugged and sent a sheepish look back at him.

Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. "Winchesters," he muttered.


End file.
